


A Graying Tower, Alone on the Sea

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Series: An Affair in Edge City [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-29
Updated: 2011-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:05:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a superhero with issues, Castiel is a mild-mannered reporter trying to date him.</p><p>(Contains very little actual superhero-ing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Graying Tower, Alone on the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning** : This fic contains rough sex, painful sex, sex-related injury (not described in explicit detail), PTSD, brief compromised consent due to PTSD.

Castiel doesn’t often take leaps of faith, but when he does, he makes them count.

He invited Dean in. He meant it.

 

* * *

It’s a quiet Sunday morning when Castiel finally steps out of his apartment.

There’s a moment of disorientation where the hall outside seems to swim before his eyes, but Castiel blinks it away, steadies himself, and goes to fetch the newspaper and previous day’s mail.

Edge City never sleeps but Castiel’s apartment building sometimes does, especially on Sunday mornings after party-hard Saturday nights. Today’s exception is Balthazar, beloved neighbor, whose door is wide open when Castiel eventually returns to his apartment with his mail in tow.

Balthazar is slouched in his doorway, his grin is wide and knowing. “I kept telling you all you needed was a good lay, Castiel.”

“Please don’t be crude,” Castiel says, resisting the urge to cover his neck. Dean’s left bruises there, but to touch them would draw attention to both them and the finger marks round his wrists.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just jealous.” Balthazar winks. “I think I lost count around noon yesterday.”

If it were anyone else, Castiel would be embarrassed, but he’s had the repeated pleasure of hearing practically every detail of Balthazar’s clothes-optional parties. Castiel has sometimes wondered how Balthazar has been able to get that many people to fit into his apartment, but there are just some things not worth knowing.

Regardless, if anything is true it is that Castiel has earned his loud sex privileges, thank you very much. “You keep your comments to yourself.”

“Say hi to the lucky guy for me!” Balthazar says, just before Castiel shuts the door.

Dean is still in bed, though he’s pulled on a pair of shorts and is raptly watching Castiel’s television. One arm is tucked behind his head, and the pose draws taut the muscles of his chest and arm, along which Castiel has left bruises and bite marks of his own.

“Nothing much happened over the weekend,” Dean says, and it’s interesting that he doesn’t sound sleepy. Castiel supposes that this is because Dean has shifted his body’s requirements to less sleep, since having both a day job and a night job would keep him occupied in ways beyond regular workaholic behavior.

Sam calls Castiel a workaholic sometimes, but that’s only because Castiel finds his work fulfilling in and of itself, which he doesn’t think there should be anything wrong with. It is good and satisfying to have a sense of purpose the way Castiel does, and maybe that is something he and Dean have in common. Considering that before yesterday he’d thought that he and Dean didn’t have anything in common whatsoever, this is promising.

“Do you want some coffee?” Castiel asks once he’s puts the paper and mail aside. “I’m not sure what you like.”

“What, you never took judgmental notes about the stuff I snagged from your office pantry?” Dean teases, his grin bright even across the apartment. “You like yours black, just a little bit of sugar. But you take milk when it’s your third or fourth of the day.”

“I only stalk people when I’m on duty.” Castiel busies himself shaking out the filter and pulling out his bag of coffee beans, and only belatedly realizes that Dean never gave him answer. He turns to ask again, but Dean is gone from the bed. “Dean—?”

“You’re so hot, Cas,” Dean hisses, breath warm against the back of Castiel’s neck.

Castiel drops the bag of coffee in surprise. Dean is fast and silent, so very _silent_ like a ghost, and a thin thread in Castiel’s mind is aware that he should be afraid of that. Dean, as Castiel is starting to learn, is a whole lot of complicated things, and calls up a whole lot of complicated responses in Castiel. Like now, for example, where Dean is skimming fingers along Castiel’s waistband, effortlessly pulling Castiel’s arousal front and center even as he contemplates how eerily quiet Dean be.

“Are you seriously saying that I’m hot while I’m making coffee?” Castiel asks. Weakness of all weaknesses, his head falls back on to Dean’s shoulder, letting loose a soft gasp at the press of Dean’s erection against his ass.

“You’re hot when you do anything,” Dean says, possessive hands coming around to touch him. He’d been unsure in their first time together, but now his fingers push under Castiel’s shirt and drag lines across his skin, confident of their welcome. He rubs himself firmly against Castiel, saying, “Feel that? That’s for you.”

“I’m flattered,” Castiel replies, gasping with surprise when Dean yanks Castiel’s pants down. Fingers probe at the heat between his legs, and Castiel nearly laughs when he feels the coolness of lubrication. Of course Dean would be prepared, having already planned to turn a casual grope into something more.

“Can you take me one more time?” Dean asks, fingertips stroking over his entrance. “Only if you’re okay.”

“Yes,” Castiel says. He _is_ sore and won’t be able to sit comfortably for a while, but he knows the limits of his body and this is not one of them. Dean can have him and Castel is willing; he shows his willingness by pushing back, turning his head to kiss the corner of Dean’s mouth, and admiring the concentration in Dean’s face when he focuses on opening Castiel up again.

There is still a haze of disbelief over Castiel’s memories of the weekend. His invitation to Dean, Dean’s arrival, their mutual acceptance and acknowledgement that this could be a potential bad decision on everyone’s part (except where it could also be a wonderful decision, Castiel isn’t so blind to not see), and then furious sex in every which way, only taking breaks to eat and sleep.

It’s the most indulgent Castiel’s ever let himself be.

This kind of want can’t burn so bright and not lead to – _no_. Castiel won’t think of that, not yet, not now, not when this is still so new and Dean is pulling his fingers out of him and turning Castiel around to face him. Dean’s hands come under Castiel’s thighs – he’s strong, of course he is, he’s taken on dozens-on-one fights before – and lifts him up on the counter.

“Be careful,” Castiel says, pushing his coffee machine to a safe distance. There’s no point asking if Dean would like to move this to the bed. Dean has that smile that betrays his determination to see this through, his hands cupping firmly under Castiel’s knees and spreading his legs apart.

“Fucking hell,” Dean says through a grin, no doubt admiring the canvas of his handiwork. Castiel thinks that Dean is a sight himself, scratches on his shoulders and fading bites around his nipples, looking all the more delectable for it. “Put me in you, Cas.”

Castiel reaches down, finding Dean’s cock – the condom’s already on, of course – and guides him close. The angle is awkward but he nudges the head of Dean’s cock against him – hissing a little, because he _is_ sore – and then Dean is pushing in.

“Oh, god,” Castiel moans, because it’s almost too much. The skin is tender and he can acutely feel every square inch of where he’s wrapped snug around Dean’s cock, but despite that – or because of it, who knows, Dean keeps surprising him – Castiel is shaking, unexpected sun-sharp pleasure in the overstimulation.

Dean pauses a few times to gauge his reaction, but when Castiel whispers, “Please, yes, Dean,” he’s sliding all the way home. Castiel yelps and clings tight on to the edge of counter for balance, the back of his head knocking gently against the cabinet behind him.

“How does it feel?” Dean asks, circling his hips gently.

Castiel tries to form an answer, but all that comes out is a whimper. Dean is inside him, a delicious invasion that pushes the razor edges of sensation, and Castiel _will like it_.

The world’s narrowed to just Dean – his hands holding Castiel’s legs apart, his cock moving in careful thrusts, and his gaze intense on Castiel, proof that this level focus truly goes both ways between them. This is the only simulation Castiel’s getting and it’s enough, it’s more than enough, surely he will go mad with it.

Castiel doesn’t last long, which is a relief. Every drag of Dean’s cock inside him lights up his already sensitized body, and when he presses against his prostate Castiel bucks up helplessly, riding the edge where pleasure and pain fuse together. All it takes is a few more firm nudges at that spot – Dean’s aim perfect – and then Castiel’s grabbing his cock and gasping through his orgasm.

It’s overwhelming, sharp and fierce like a nova under his skin, and Castiel can only take so much. He cannot imagine what he looks like now, what Dean is seeing as he falls apart so shamelessly.

When the pleasure eddies away Castiel is left weak and vulnerable – a situation he doesn’t much care for, truth be told – but then Dean is slipping out, wrapping arms around him and carrying him away. Castiel practically croons at the sudden feel of sheets against his skin, and he curls into himself, whimpering softly.

“Yeah, too much,” he hears Dean murmur. The bed dips when Dean joins him, and Castiel slowly opens his eyes.

Dean is jerking off, condom gone and the shiny wet head of his cock peeking through his fingers. Castiel’s vision is a little blurry but he can still appreciate the beauty of Dean’s form and the wickedness of his smile.

“Dean,” Castiel manages to whisper. Dean’s eyes go darker when Castiel opens his mouth, an invitation for Dean to use him, please use him, please. Dean takes it, shifting Castiel gently on to his back and then climbing over, his knees on either side of Castiel’s head.

His dick is warm and silken between Castiel’s lips. Dean’s mindful not to push in too deep, Castiel only able to take so much despite his good-natured attempts at suction, but it’s enough for Dean, who’s cursing and saying things about Castiel’s mouth and how it’s fucking crazy and dear god he’s going to come. Right at the last moment Dean pulls out and finishes himself off with quick, harsh strokes.

Castiel huffs a laugh when Dean collapses next to him on the sheets, which are filthy and will need to be changed as soon as Dean leaves. Dean snorts, shoves at Castiel warmly before kissing his shoulder, and then they just lie there, quiet and contented.

“I have to go,” Dean says after a while. “There are… There’s this thing I’m following, down at the docks, and I missed it yesterday so I have to…”

“Okay.” Castiel turns his face towards Dean, and is not at all surprised that Dean looks faintly worried. His costume is folded neatly on the chair next to the bed, waiting for him. “Duty calls. I’ll be fine.”

“But this is…” Dean presses in close, fingers moving almost nervously over Castiel’s hip. It’s almost funny, those fingers should be damn sure of their welcome by now considering everything they’ve done to Castiel’s body over the past couple of hours. “This isn’t a one-off?”

“Of course not.” Castiel tilts his head, pressing a kiss to Dean’s cheek. “I’m not done with you.”

Dean’s smile is almost blinding. “Cool.”

 

* * *

In Castiel’s experience, sex tends to be the easiest part of any sexual-romantic relationship. It’s everything else that makes things complicated, though ‘complicated’ is occasionally just another way to say ‘interesting’.

But how _does_ one go about dating a superhero?

Well, for starters one should stop thinking of Dean as a superhero. He’s _Dean_ , all-too-human with a psyche full of hidden corners that lead to his becoming both an urban legend of terror as well as an obnoxious slacker (that over the past year seemed to have nothing better to do than force Castiel to learn new ways to fend off his flirtations).

Surely, now, Castiel can learn about the honest parts that hold both of these sides of Dean together.

It’s an attractive prospect, one that he clings to when he returns to work on Monday with his whole body sore and forcing his usual business-like gait into something far less efficient. When Castiel sits at his desk, ass burning, he decides that though doesn’t regret his choice, he is still allowed to curse Dean to the high heavens in the privacy of his own head.

Then Crowley smacks his shoulder with a rolled up piece of paper, and Castiel has someone to vent on.

“What is wrong with you?” Castiel snaps. “Is that the only way you know to communicate with people?

Crowley raises his eyebrows, hand frozen where it had been descending for a second smack. “Well, someone’s a little—”

“If you say anything remotely innuendo-laden I will have your ass on my desk and not in way you’d enjoy, so please talk to me like a civilized human being for once, Crowley.” Castiel feels marginally better now, actually.

“Uh.” Crowley blinks at him, a little thrown. “I was just going to ask if you heard about the something-something breakthrough with the Raphael case?”

“Raphael?” It’s Castiel’s turn to rewire his thoughts back to the rest of the world. “What about him? Is he in Edge City?”

“Nah, I just heard something about Raphael and I figured that _you’d_ be all over that.” He saunters off, leaving Castiel’s mind racing and then narrowing to a sharp point to focus on: Raphael.

Castiel is a journalist with a number of articles and editorials to his name, but there are some stories that linger longer than others. He tries not to make things personal, he really does, but some things are simply beyond his control, among them the placement of Raphael in his history, in his thoughts.

He spends his day following Crowley’s barely helpful lead. Pulling at his contacts reveals that there _are_ noises on the ground, whisperings that Raphael’s known cohorts are coming in and sniffing around, but no sign of Raphael himself. Castiel isn’t sure whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, for Edge City isn’t familiar with Raphael or his movement – their city has their own share of power struggles and villains to cope with, a far-off name would mean very little to most of them.

The point is, Castiel is in the zone. There could be a story here, and since there’s practically no one in Edge City who knows Raphael the way Castiel does, it would be ripe for his follow-up and—

“Hey, Cas!”

Castiel jerks up, his vision suddenly filled with Dean’s face, Dean’s smile, and a cup of coffee in Dean’s hand.

“Oh,” Castiel says, and he can almost feel the momentum of his thoughts crashing, like a magnificent six-car pile-up at the back of his mind. “Dean, I wasn’t… Oh, it’s lunch.”

“No,” Dean says slowly, “It _was_ lunch. You forgot again, as you do. Take this.” He pushes forward a paper bag, which contains a couple of sandwiches and a tall Styrofoam cup of coffee, black.

“Thank you,” Castiel says, grateful but still a little off-balance. “Uh, Sam is—”

“I came to see _you_ , dim-wit,” Dean says, and Castiel gasps when Dean kisses him firmly on the mouth. When Castiel jerks back, the movement reminds him of the burning in his ass, which in turn reminds of him of other things he’d prefer not think about while at work.

“What?” Dean pulls away. Over his shoulder, Sarah is looking at them with a startled smile, though Dean is too busy frowning at Castiel to notice. “You ashamed of me or something?”

Castiel stares at him. “I’m at work.”

“Yeah, so?” When Dean perches himself on the corner of Castiel’s desk, calm as he pleases, Castiel realizes that he should have known. Castiel should have known that Dean would always be Dean, brash and infuriating and presumptuous. The only difference now is how his grin has a softer, knowing edge when he looks at Castiel.

Of course, Castiel now has the privilege of knowing about Dean’s other life. With how painstakingly Dean’s been building up his reputation in Edge City, there must be strategies and caution in every move he makes, with either mask her wears.

Castiel relaxes. This is probably the front: charming Dean Winchester coming in to visit his journalist boyfriend, and such a public display would surely that would make him that much less a possible candidate for a reckless, dangerous shadow of fear.

“Thank you,” Castiel says, accepting the meal. “This was very nice, I appreciate it. Crowley, please stop gaping, that’s very rude.”

Crowley makes a dismissive sound, but doesn’t turn away. “I’m just waiting for my gag reflex to kick in, usually it shows up faster.”

These things happen in quick succession: Sam arrives and sputters on his coffee when he sees Dean, Dean quips at Sam and pecks Castiel _again_ , and then Zachariah bellows his way out of his office to give Castiel a public dressing down for the usual reasons, except this time he has just cause for blaming Dean as a distraction.

“You and Dean,” Sam says, once Zachariah is gone and the office has settled back down. Castiel refuses to be embarrassed, and meets Sam’s gaze with a solemn nod. “Congrats.”

Castiel hears the caution in Sam’s tone, so carefully masked beneath cheerful support. “I’ll do my best.”

Sam pauses, eyebrows furrowing a little. “Do… your best?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. This is the wrong place to talk about this, though it couldn’t be helped that Dean had to leave before they could hash out how Castiel may fit within Dean’s boundaries. “Come on, Sam, what’s your report from the ground?”

Sam accepts the change of the topic, but doesn’t drop it entirely. That’s what makes Sam an excellent partner, and Castiel can see the promise in the shifting of his eyebrows – _we aren’t done_.

And it’s true, they aren’t done, not until after work and Dean picks up _both_ of them when they exit the lobby at the end of the day, ignoring Castiel’s embarrassed protests that Edge City’s public transportation system is excellent.

“Dude, the things I could tell _you_ about what goes down in the tunnels,” Dean says, gesturing at them impatiently to get into the car. “Get the hell in, guys, don’t let my baby get a ticket.” Castiel doesn’t want to know how Dean got a parking spot right in front of the Edge City Chronicle, but maybe there are superhero powers he doesn’t yet know about.

“Wow, Dean, kidnapping instead of asking, why am I not surprised,” Sam says as he drops into the passenger’s seat. “Hi ho, Silver.”

Castiel follows suit, buckling up as soon as he’s inside. “Why does this particular car have four doors? I’ve always wondered but it felt rude to ask before.”

Dean falls silent. For a moment Castiel thinks that he’s said something wrong, then he hears Dean say in a husky voice Castiel only knows too well, “Jesus Christ, Cas, why I am not surprised that you noticed that, I’m gonna—”

“Dean!” Sam bleats.

“Heh.” Dean pulls the car out into the main road, his grin subtly changing the shape of his profile. “C’mon, you’ve heard worse.”

“Well then, I’m just grateful that my brain hasn’t leaked out of my ears yet,” Sam retorts.

Castiel’s seen this, of course – Sam and Dean bantering easily and poking at each other with words that mean more than what they sound like. Previously Castiel always politely stayed out of it, though in the early days he’d listen in only to gauge his then-new partner’s personality. Now Castiel listens in with new interest.

“I mean, okay,” Sam’s saying with a touch of fake belligerence, “Fine. Mazel tov, then.”

“Aww, don’t take out your frustration on me,” Dean retorts, smacking the back of Sam’s head. “Just ‘cause you haven’t had the balls to make a move on Sarah is no excuse to be a whiny little douchenozzle.”

Castiel starts. “You have feelings for Sarah?”

Dean barks out a laugh. “I thought you’re supposed to be an investigative journalist, Cas.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Castiel mutters, though Dean’s teasing filters through his ears differently now. “Sam’s personal matters are his own.”

There’s a pause in the conversation then, one that Castiel feels is meant for Sam. He watches Sam turn slightly, glancing at Castiel, then back at Dean. “So. Castiel.”

“He knows,” Dean says. “That’s why I wanted to do this.”

Sam doesn’t quite mask his soft inhalation of surprise. Castiel eyes the back of Sam’s neck, the tense line of his shoulders, as he struggles to compose a response.

“Will this be a problem?” Castiel asks, tentatively touching Sam’s arm. “Between us, at work?”

“No, I know you, Cas, you draw lines between work and off-work pretty clear,” Sam says. Dean’s attention is on the road, so only Castiel sees the long look Sam gives his brother. “I’m pretty sure it won’t be a problem between _us_.”

“Hey,” Dean protests, “Cas can keep a secret.”

“I know that, too.” Sam makes the sound of an abortive sigh. “It’s okay, it’s your call. I respect that.”

“I won’t…” Castiel knows how that are more things at stake here than two people reaching for each other. He’d spent the weekend thinking about the obvious things – he could be a potential leak, he could be used to force the Hunter’s hand, he could be a high-price distraction – but as with all matters, Castiel knows that it runs even deeper than that, into places he doesn’t and might never know. “I won’t betray your work.”

“You misunderstand me.” Sam turns around, his smile soft when he reaches back to squeeze Castiel’s arm. “I think this is good. I’m glad it’s you.” His eyes are tight with concern; of course he’d be worried for his brother. In doing this Dean is allowing himself to be vulnerable, and there is no promise Castiel can offer right now that will ease that worry.

Castiel makes the promise to himself anyway.

“Actually,” Dean says dryly, “I didn’t want this little pow-wow to get your blessing. It’s just easier when you’re around to brief Cas on the ground rules. Sam’s as much a part of the operation as my mask and gloves. How d’you think I get to the hot spots before the furniture starts flying?”

Castiel narrows his eyes at his partner. “I see.”

“Hey!” Sam laughs softly, only a little bit apologetic. “Okay, no, I’m not going to justify myself to you, Cas. By coming in on this, you know you’re going to have to lie, don’t you? To keep Dean safe, to protect what he does?”

“Of course,” Castiel says immediately. His hand twitches, wanting to touch Dean, but he can wait. “I can do that.” Rule number one, that’s easy.

“One thing we got to be clear, though,” Dean says, the laughter suddenly out of his voice. “Both of you, I want this to be crystal. Cas is in on this, but he’s not part of this. This isn’t – I don’t want you to think I’m recruiting you into the op, Cas.”

“That never occurred to me, actually,” Castiel replies honestly. “And, to counter that right back, I’d be offended if you thought that my wanting to be with you is anything at all like I’m offering to become part of your posse.”

Sam chuckles. “Well, if that’s all cleared up…”

He starts talking – with Dean joining him every other sentence – about the other people who know, how they contribute, how they keep the pieces of the board constantly moving so the Hunter never gets caught – and Castiel listens, allowing the brothers to adjust his worldview and accommodate him in theirs.

 

* * *

The thing is, dating in itself has always been a challenge for Castiel.

There have been so many other things higher up the hierarchy of his life’s priorities – studies, causes, work placements, work itself – and there are only so many hours in a day and so much energy that Castiel can tap into. He’s tried dating before and found it tenuous. He’s even tried casual sex before, but that turned out to require almost as much effort as dating.

Then there’s Dean, whom against all odds just might make all everything worthwhile.

That’s the only reason Castiel can think of for why he has no qualms about their spending a third weekend in a row indulging in each other, both of them lazy and fucked out, Castiel’s laptop and Dean’s communicator mostly untouched. Castiel feels positively slothful, but he doesn’t care. He has excellent time management and it’s been a tiring week – human trafficking ring bust wide open, higher ups scrambling to keep it down – keeping both of them preoccupied in their individual ways.

Right now, it’s satisfying to just be able to lie alongside Dean’s back, tracing the old scars on his skin.

“You should tell me if it hurts.” Castiel is careful to keep his hands away from the fresh cuts higher up, from where Dean had been slashed just a few days earlier. “I know I can get… excitable. I didn’t know you were injured.”

“No, it’s good.” Dean reaches a hand back, finding Castiel’s wrist and squeezing. “That’s a good pain. It makes me forget about the other kind.”

Dean says things like that sometimes, in between all of his broad smiles and intoxicating confidence. Castiel falls silent, unsure what to say, so he presses another kiss to his shoulder.

Some of the oldest scars on Dean’s body are burns.

Brave Dean, Dean of a thousand demons, Dean who sometimes snaps out of sleep shaking and cursing but keeps going out into the night to do what needs to be done. Castiel thinks he could be content just holding him like this, drawing his lips over the marks on his body.

Then Dean glances over his shoulder and leers. “You gonna put that mouth to better use?”

Castiel sighs, for he is also Dean of awkward flirting and inappropriate jokes – which he uses to deflect when the conversation goes somewhere he doesn’t want.

But that’s all right. All couples need time to get to know each other.

That said, Dean being who he is means that the process of learning about each other isn’t exactly typical. He and Dean have only been dating for a few weeks, even if they’d been vague acquaintances for a year before that, so it’s only natural that – barring the early debriefing with Sam on Dean’s safety policies – there are a hell of a lot more things going on with Dean than Castiel knows about.

 

* * *

Only a portion of their interactions so far resemble the relationships of Castiel’s past. Castiel knows how dating works, just as he’d known that dating Dean would be different the moment he’d had that first glimpse of who Dean really was.

(Castiel’s pretty sure that Dean’s making it up as he goes along, too. Sam’s all but said out loud that Dean doesn’t date much. Castiel kind of likes that they’re both exceptions to each other’s rules.)

In the weeks following that initial revelation, Castiel has spent time navigating the perilous waters of dating a superhero, learning firsthand what that entails.

Some things are typical: casual kisses when the mood strikes, surreptitious brushing of fingers in public, the comfortable knowledge that sex is a sure thing. There are things that aren’t typical: having access to Dean’s private scrambled number, memorizing a list of key words to be used for communication in emergencies, and having the clear understanding that Dean can leave at any moment.

Then there are things like tonight, after weeks of hook-ups and daytime lunches and indulgent weekend nights, Castiel is now sitting at a table for two in a nice restaurant where the lighting is soft, the ambiance pleasant and the chair opposite him completely empty.

Castiel glances at his watch. Dean is almost half an hour late.

“Excuse me.” Castiel nods when the waiter approaches the table. “I’ll look at the menu now.”

“Of course, sir,” the waiter says, too professional to offer a pitying look at Castiel’s lack of a date.

Castiel’s Blackberry – which is souped up now, thanks to Dean – informs him that there’s some goings-on on in the financial district that are the likely reason that Dean is preoccupied tonight. Castiel sends a quick message to Sarah, making sure someone from the paper is out there covering the story, and then opens his news feeds to track the action.

All relationships require compromises. Dating Dean has its own unique expectations.

Castiel’s been researching the Hunter’s exploits for so long that he gets it, he really does. He tries his best to not worry and trust that Dean knows what he’s doing. After all, Dean’s been doing this for a while. Years, maybe, and Castiel thinks it may have started when his mother died, but that’s up to Dean to tell him.

For now, Castiel is content to follow the questionable police scanner app Dean installed on his phone, and will be content to hold Dean later when he’s done.

 _Suspects have moved to the library block,_ Castiel reads on his phone. That’s good, because Dean’s always more confident high up than on the ground.

Castiel can almost see it in his mind’s eye – Dean pursuing the bad guys and avoiding pursuit by the uniforms, slipping through shadows deftly and silently as though the darkness itself is part of his costume. Dean never lets himself be seen by anyone he doesn’t want to; for all that Castiel’s article on The Hunter has cemented his new nickname and status as Edge City’s bogeyman of questionable righteousness, Dean’s biggest advantage has always been that nagging doubt in other people’s minds on the exact nature of his existence.

In the weeks that have passed since their first kiss, Castiel has done pretty well squaring that figure of fear with the man who gropes his ass in public with the man whose voice goes soft whenever he talks about his family in private. Dean is all, Dean is multitudes; Castiel is dangerously close to falling in love.

 _Officers to move in pursuit_ , the next update says _. Campton and Third has been closed off._ Castiel sips his wine and moves the apps around so he can see sort through his emails.

Dinner is pleasant despite the lack of company, though it helps that the food excellent. Castiel eats in between reading Crowley’s latest email on Raphael’s activities and composing messages to his contacts on the ground, and then lists out the dishes he’d recommend Dean try if they come here again.

Castiel almost snickers. Look at him, alone in a restaurant, monitoring his boyfriend on one feed and sending work emails on another. It’s a poor excuse for a date, but Castiel’s genuinely _happy_ – Dean is doing good out there, and Castiel is grateful to be able to share that.

The chase ends while Castiel is in the middle of dessert. That doesn’t mean that Dean’s work is over, though – he’s a detective, kind of like Castiel, only more, and just because the action stops that doesn’t mean the case does. Castiel uses the time to sort through the messages from his street contacts – he won’t have time to see them tonight, so he makes appointments for tomorrow.

Dean hasn’t shown up by the time Castiel is done, so he pays for his meal and leaves. It’s not fun walking the cold streets alone this time of night, but Dean has a standing invitation to his apartment and it’s possible he might be there right now, recuperating.

How it usually works is if Dean is ever injured or in actual danger, Sam (who acts as his digitally-connected eyes and ears from a safe location) will contact Castiel. That’s only happened once so far, and in that incident Castiel had banked his fear and remained patient, waiting in his apartment for the next update. Dean had turned out bruised and grumpy, but otherwise okay.

Right now, Castiel marches on straight home, confident in Dean’s capabilities.

So confident is he that when his phone vibrates with a message that says, _head’s up_ , Castiel flings himself against the wall of the nearest building, fists at the ready.

Dean seems to slide out of the brick itself, reaching for Castiel with gloved hands. His movement is as elegant as a tide drawing Castiel in; Castiel follows, letting himself be pulled into Dean’s arms.

“Had good exercise tonight, I see,” Castiel half-laughs, running fingers over Dean’s reddened cheeks. Dean doesn’t wince, which is a good thing, and there appear to be no head injuries. Castiel twists a hand into his jacket and pulls him close. “But if you keep sneaking up on me like that, one day I’ll taze you and then you’ll be sorry.”

“I have an app for that,” Dean teases, leaning in.

They kiss like that, in a cold dirty alleyway, Castiel having no complaints whatsoever about being pushed up against coarse brick. He trusts that Dean knows what he’s doing, that he’s scoped the place out so that they’re safe. Dean has a fancy (and likely illegal) satellite program that he uses as an eagle eye into the city, and ensuring their privacy for a make-out session is the least of its capabilities.

“Sorry,” Dean says, once he’s pulled away to breathe. “I’m really sorry, Cas, I had to—”

“No need to apologize.” Castiel pushes his fingers into Dean’s hair. He’s already thinking what he has in his apartment to feed Dean; he missed dinner, he must be hungry. “I hope you got what you wanted.”

“But that’s not…” Dean’s eyes dart away, his furrowed brow betraying his confusion. “Fuck it, Cas, I missed our date. _Again_.”

“You were busy.” Castiel trails his fingers down Dean’s front. He’s not wearing his Hunter clothes, so they’re either underneath or back in the Impala wherever she’s parked. “Your responsibilities are important, I understand that.”

“But I keep _doing_ that,” Dean growls, determined to be stubborn. “How many times have I left you hanging like that, Cas?”

Castiel can’t resist, he has to lean in again and flick his tongue against Dean’s lower lip. Of course Dean would feel guilty for missing appointments when he’s, oh, by the way, saving people and hunting bad guys. “Think of it this way. If you didn’t _not_ show up every once in a while, I’d never get anything done at all.”

Dean laughs at that, finally. “You sad-ass workaholic.” After a beat, he sobers. “You shouldn’t be so reasonable about it, Cas. It’s our, uh, three month anniversary.”

Castiel stills. “It is?”

“Yeah.” Dean smiles sheepishly. “I know, it’s stupid, but. Yeah. Quarter one. Just thought it’d be nice to do something.”

“Oh.” Castiel thinks back, and it has indeed been three months since he’d invited Dean (not the Hunter, _Dean_ ) into his apartment. No wonder Dean had been adamant they go out tonight, and had made the reservations when he usually didn’t care about that sort of thing. Castiel smiles. “Then I suggest we adjourn to my apartment to celebrate.”

Dean laughs, pressing his forehead against Castiel’s. This close, Castiel can see how tired he really is, his eyes pinched and his body sagging against Castiel’s. It could be due to the physical strain of the chase, or it could be due to the emotional weight of the case. Either way, there are things Castiel can do to make Dean feel better.

Castiel kisses him again, slow and soft. “Come on.” He slides his hand into Dean’s, pulling him out of the alley.

“You’re too good for me,” Dean mutters, grinning as he’s dragged along.

“On the contrary,” Castiel says, not really caring how cheerful he sounds. “I think you’ll find it’s the other way round.”

 

* * *

Not all the compromises are easy.

Castiel knows by agreeing to keep Dean’s identity a secret he’s challenging his values as a reporter, but it’s not as if he’s never done that kind of thing before. In the past, Castiel has given up stories, swallowed secrets, protected faces that never wanted to be found – all for the sake of something more important than a byline.

Castiel knows the right thing to do isn’t always the good thing do, which is probably why he’s able to adapt readily to being part of Dean’s life.

There are others involved besides Sam and himself, and Castiel spends the next few months getting to know them beyond their names. There’s Bobby Singer, who is Dean’s daytime boss and helps keep up his front of having a legitimate job, there’s Ellen and Jo Harvelle, who run a bar downtown and provide occasional back-up, and there’s Ash, whose purpose Castiel hasn’t figured out yet, though Sam seems to think he’s important.

The difference between all the others and Castiel is, of course, that they’re all in on it because they believe in Dean’s cause and wish to help him pursue it. Bad guys slip between the cracks, Dean is slippery enough to follow and dig them out. Castiel believes in Dean, too – the more so now that he knows him as a person – but he’s not in it to help, not like _that_.

Castiel chases the bad guys, too, but in his own way, on his own terms. Dean understands.

“Sometimes I wish I could help you with what you do,” Castiel tells Dean during one of their lunches in the park, sitting under the shadow of the Chronicle building. Sam likes this addition to their routine, and has commented that now both of them get proper meals every now and then. “The way that Sam does.”

“We talking ‘bout this now?” Dean asks, almost playfully. “C’mon, Cas, you know you don’t really mean it. You love your day job too much.”

“True.” Castiel lets Dean pull his free hand, squeezing his fingers. “I’m not going to feel sorry about that.”

“Exactly.” Dean pulls a pickle out from his store-bought burger, dropping it on to Castiel’s home-made sandwich. “That’s why I trust you to handle all of… this. You’ve got your own heavy-duty stuff – which I think is awesome, by the way. You’re not stupid enough to actually get caught up in my bullshit.”

“I think you just insulted your brother in there somewhere,” Castiel points out.

Dean just hums softly.

Castiel looks at him for a long moment. Then he reaches up to Dean’s temple to flick a wayward strand of hair, just because he can. Yes, this is definitely worth having Zachariah yell at him for dropping The Hunter story completely. Becky’s doing a decent job now, anyway, even if she tends to prefer sensationalism in her articles.

Yes, it’s definitely better that Castiel stay on the outside.

 

* * *

For a while, this isn’t a problem.

Castiel can compartmentalize whenever talking about The Hunter with outsiders, he can make excuses whenever Dean’s supposed to be his Plus One in office events but doesn’t show up, and he can definitely hold his own whenever he gets into an argument with Dean over whether the system is worth trusting or not.

So the first time that line between them actually _matters_ , they are not Dean and Castiel, dating for over four months, but The Hunter and a newspaper-affiliated civilian, trying to save innocents in a hostage situation.

“One of them has moved to the store room,” Castiel whispers into his communicator. He is in the thick of a group of hostages, all of them in their rumpled officewear. Castiel’s the only one with a visitor’s tag. “No other movement.”

The Hunter is somewhere else in the building, working through the floors. His voice comes through the speaker in Castiel’s ear, “ _SWAT coming in twenty-twenty five, depending on how big a jackass they have in their big black van. Give me a moment._ ”

One of his fellow hostages – a large man in a dress shirt and name tag – is in front of him, helpfully blocking him from the view of the group that has taken over the Layton-Turner Tower and is currently milling around the lobby with their weapons at the ready. It’s been a long day, exhaustion is finally breaking over the other hostages’ fear, and Castiel really doesn’t like that the negotiations seem to be winding down. That usually means that the guns will be coming into play.

All phone lines in the building are dead but, naturally, the Dean-approved device isn’t subject to normal laws. As far as the other hostages know, Castiel is talking with the police.

“ _Okay. Going to set off a distraction, get ready._ ”

Castiel nods at the young woman crouched next to him. She starts whispering, the message passing through the group and subtly changing the body language of the pale, worried people tucked in all around him.

“We’re going to get out of this,” the man in front of Castiel says. It’s more for his comfort than anyone else’s, so Castiel doesn’t comment. After a moment the man adds, “You do this a lot, do you?”

“Not in a while,” Castiel admits.

He nods, as though confirming some thought in his head. “You’ve been calm all day. Since they came running in here, guns blazing.”

“Thank you.”

The other guy makes a face. “Not sure that was a compliment, but okay.”

“ _Standby_ ,” The Hunter’s voice comes through, pulling Castiel’s attention away. “ _Impact in one minute from… now._ ”

At the end of the countdown, an explosion rocks the building. Castiel is surprised – The Hunter prefers stealth above all else – but rolls with it, signaling for the others to follow his mark. As soon as there’s a moment where no one is watching them, they’re running for the exit Castiel’s been eyeing since all of this started.

There is a brief fight when one of the bad guys tries to stop them, but no one dies, everyone gets through the door, and Castiel smashes the keypad once he’s sealed the exit.

“Why are you still here?” Castiel snaps, turning to the group still hovering in the hallway. Waiting for him, apparently. “Run, _go_!”

They start running.

“I’m safe,” Castiel says into his communicator. He trails behind the others, waits until they get good momentum, and then detours into another hallway. He didn’t spend so long studying the layout of the LT Tower without getting to put that knowledge to good use. “Warn me if you’re going to blow this floor, too, all right?”

“ _You making your way to the South exit_?” The Hunter says. His voice is steady, meaning that he’s watching the action somewhere, waiting for the terrorists and/or SWAT team to make their move.

“Almost.” Castiel turns another sharp corner into a sea of abandoned consoles, eyes skimming quickly. He finds the right station and drops into it. “What’s happening?”

“ _SWAT’s gearing up now._ ” There’s a pause while The Hunter moves, followed by the clicking of equipment. _“They’re still going with the terrorist line outside, but I’m thinking it’s more a corporate espionage hit. Something important’s in this building, but you already knew that, right?_ ”

Castiel freezes, but only briefly. He plugs his flash drive into the computer. “Are the hostages out?”

“ _I can track you, I know you’re still in there. Why are you still in there?_ ” He doesn’t use Castiel’s name; they never use real names, no matter how secure this line is.

“Are they _out_?” Castiel insists. He jumps at the sound of gunshots that are far too close. That means they must have come through the doors, or through other doors. “You must make sure they get out. If those thieves have broken through, they could reach—”

“ _I’m coming for you_.”

“No.” Castiel plants the bot program. He can hear multiple heavy footsteps approaching, but he still has time. “Make sure the others get out first.”

“ _You can’t—_ ”

“If you don’t make sure those innocent people get out of this building safely,” Castiel promises, “I will never forgive you.”

Silence. Castiel takes the opportunity to pull the flash drive out, smash it, and then pocket the pieces for later disposal.

“ _They’re setting up explosives to take out the first three floors_ ,” The Hunter barks. “ _Probably to remove evidence of what they’ve been doing. Move about eight feet towards the window, there’s a narrow ventilation shaft, I can come—”_

“I said—” Castiel gets to his feet and moves in the opposite direction, “—make sure the others are out first. I know what I’m doing.” He ignores what The Hunter says next because it’s all growled demands that Castiel has no intention of following. He came here for a purpose and ill-timing or no, he’s going to settle what he came for.

Castiel makes it out eventually, a little worse for wear but high on adrenaline and satisfaction.

Sam finds him as he’s being tended to by paramedics outside the building. Post-hostage situation, the grounds are noisy and full of flashing lights and cops and bystanders, but Sam finds him anyway.

“Was this for a story?” is the first thing Sam says. His arms wrapped tightly around his torso, and he looks unhappy. “When you left the office you said you were following a lead.”

“Yes, though it’s too soon to say if I’ve learned something useful.” Castiel nods a thank you at the nurse before she moves away to the next patient. “I’ll keep you posted.” He takes a deep breath, relaxes, and then notices Sam’s unimpressed expression. “How is…?”

“He’s fine.” Sam studies Castiel’s face for a long moment and then sighs. “I’m used to you running off to do your own thing sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. We’re partners, Cas.”

Castiel cringes inwardly. Sam used to let this behavior slide, but back then he’d been sneaking off to provide back-up for Dean, so he couldn’t call Castiel out without bringing attention to himself. Regardless, Castiel never has and never will like involving Sam in some of his questionable methods, especially not now that Castiel knows Sam already has to deal with keeping his vigilante brother safe and under the radar.

“I apologize,” Castiel says. “I’ll bring you in if I find anything new worth investigating. I’m not sure I got anything out of this.”

“Besides getting the opportunity to write a kick-ass article from _inside_ the action?” Sam smirks. “That’s something, at least.”

“I doubt I’ll be able to get anything out by tonight, even if I survive the debriefing,” Castiel says, warily eyeing the police officer marching towards them. Sergeant Henriksen looks angrier than usual, which usually means it’ll be a while before Castiel will be allowed to leave. “You better go, I can handle this. Tell Dean I’m fine.”

Sam snorts. “You’re going to have to tell him yourself.”

 

* * *

Castiel is exhausted by the time he finally gets back to his apartment. He’d like nothing more than to collapse and stay collapsed until next Tuesday, but as soon as he closes the door, Dean is on him.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean snarls, shoving Castiel back against the door.

He must have been here a while – he’s showered and dried, changed back into civilian clothes – but the wait hasn’t tired him out. Dean is very much alert, which makes Castiel no match for him, shocked and pliant as he is ambushed with a painful kiss. The only reason Castiel doesn’t get a concussion is because Dean’s hand is already behind his head, cushioning his skull against the door.

Of course Castiel expected Dean to be angry. Dean gets touchy when it comes to people he cares about, but the strength of his response now causes Castiel to feel a burst of giddy pleasure. It’s wrong to feel that way because Dean’s obviously upset, but Castiel’s cock jumps hopefully when the buttons of his pants fly off under Dean’s fingers.

“Fucking asshole,” Dean growls, shoving his hand into Castiel’s briefs to squeeze him. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I’m here,” Castiel says, licking the iron-copper tang from the corner of his mouth. He whines when Dean starts stroking him. “I know what I’m doing, you shouldn’t be afraid.”

“Shouldn’t be afraid?” Dean pulls back, his expression hard, almost cold. “I _shouldn’t_ be afraid?”

That can’t have been a wrong thing to say, but if Dean were angry before, he is outright livid now. Castiel knows that Dean is passionate, all of his feelings running hot and vibrant, but he’s never directed _this_ at Castiel before, looking for all the world like he’s an inch way from flaying Castiel alive.

Castiel swallows. “I didn’t know those men would be there, how could I? I didn’t intend to get involved like that. That’s not my fault.”

“But you didn’t get yourself out first chance you got,” Dean says, voice so soft and cool that Castiel has no doubt that _this_ is what he uses on the streets to make grown men spill their secrets. “You put yourself at risk. And for what, a story? Is a fucking story worth your life, Cas?”

Castiel opens his mouth to protest – this is more than just _a_ story, this is the closest he’s ever gotten to finding out what Raphael is doing, the window for action is so small and he just _couldn’t_ lose it – but Dean’s kissing him again, the clash of teeth too hard to be anything but a warning.

“No more.” Dean draws back, pulling Castiel with him towards the bed. “No more, got it?

“Dean,” Castiel starts, shedding his shirt and underwear before Dean can destroy those, too. He falls to the bed, unresisting, when Dean shoves at him. “I’m okay, I’m right here—”

“Never,” Dean says, sounding a little strange now, eyes intense as he focuses on Castiel. He almost rips his own shirt off, baring his teeth in an uncharacteristic grimace. He climbs on top of Castiel, like a mountain, an avalanche, ready to bury Castiel alive. “Never again.”

“You don’t get a say in that, Dean.” Castiel winces when Dean responds by grabbing his wrists, lifting them into a lock above his head. Dean starts dropping biting kisses to his skin, starting at Castiel’s neck and moving down. Castiel’s hips move up, futile in his search for friction. “Dean, whatever you may think, it’s – oh god – it wasn’t about the story. It was about those people. I did my best to help them but I couldn’t finish it, couldn’t get them all out myself – it had to be you.”

Dean growls, teeth digging into the skin around Castiel’s nipple.

“I knew—” Castiel whines at the feel of a hot tongue lapping at what should be a bruise by now, “I know I can always count on you.”

This turns out to be the wrong thing to say, too. Dean makes a sound that’s barely human, and clasps his hand tight around Castiel’s mouth.

Castiel takes the hint and quiets.

Dean’s head is bowed, shielding his eyes from view. His breathing labored, and not solely because of the gorgeous erection hanging heavy between his legs. This is about something more than the fear of Castiel coming to harm. Something else has Dean taut and almost shaking, a different sort of anger rising off him like a stench.

This is something Castiel hasn’t seen yet. Castiel thinks frantically; maybe Dean has been stressed out about something he’s been investigating, maybe something bad happened elsewhere that Castiel doesn’t know about.

Castiel jumps when Dean grabs his cock, pulling at it almost cruelly. Dean has wonderful, elegant hands, working Castiel’s erection to full readiness where he’d only been half-hard before. The hand on Castiel’s mouth eventually slides away but Castiel says nothing, the silence between them thick and heavy as Dean fetches the lube.

Castiel shudders when Dean’s wet fingers return to his cock, sliding on a condom. Dean’s eyes are dark, almost distant, as he slicks Castiel up. If this is what Dean needs, Castiel can give it to him, Castiel would do anything to help him—

Dean rises up over Castiel’s lap, readying himself.

“Wait.” Castiel touches Dean’s thighs in warning. “Dean, I need to prep you, there’s—”

Dean either can’t or won’t hear, because he’s holding Castiel’s cock in place and sliding down on to it. Castiel gasps, shocked at the blinding tightness around him as Dean sinks.

All at once everything else – Castiel’s shock, frustration, worry – is gone. There’s only panic.

“Dean, stop. Dean, _Dean_ , stop!” Castiel shoves up, cursing himself for not reacting faster. Barely any lubrication, no preparation, and Dean’s face is stuck on a snarl as he fights against Castiel’s attempts to buck him off. Instead, Dean just grinds down harder on to Castiel’s lap.

Castiel bites back a scream of horror.

He will have no part in this punishment, but it takes almost all Castiel’s strength to throw Dean off. Dean isn’t happy with that, so they fight – tussling, kicking, hands and knees and elbows used as weapons until Castiel finally manages to get Dean on his stomach and locked in an unusually easy submission hold.

Once there, Castiel takes a moment to catch his breath. Underneath him Dean’s struggles are half-hearted. He could break the hold easily if he wanted.

Castiel presses a kiss to the back of Dean’s neck. It doesn’t help; Dean starts trembling.

“Dean, I—” The moment Castiel starts to let Dean go, he twists, hands coming up to grab at Castiel’s neck. “Dean, stop it!”

It isn’t hard to subdue Dean again, and by then Castiel’s figured out what Dean wants. It takes one of Castiel’s ties to keep Dean’s hands knotted and bound behind his back. The tie looks pathetically flimsy – Dean can get out of police-issue handcuffs in less than a minute – but it is somehow enough, Dean now lying passively on the sheets and no longer struggling.

Castiel sits back on his haunches. He studies Dean, naked and practically trussed up, eyelids fluttering restlessly. If it were any other day Castiel would be aroused by the sight; today he’s too busy processing the apparent fact of reality that it’s only like _this_ that Dean’s allowing himself to relax.

Suppresses his nausea, Castiel looks down and carefully peels off the stained condom. He goes to the bathroom to collect wipes and antiseptic cream, which he uses to clean Dean up to the best of his ability. Dean doesn’t protest as Castiel tends to him, only murmuring softly when Castiel’s fingers probe at his opening, checking the extent of the damage.

Through all this Dean’s cock remains hard, resting heavily on the mattress. Castiel carefully touches him now, pumping slowly and swiping his thumb against the leaking head. Dean shudders, moaning softly.

Then Castiel looks up at Dean’s face and freezes. Dean’s eyes are scrunched shut and his cheeks are wet.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” Castiel gasps, dropping Dean’s cock. He quickly rises up the bed, cupping Dean’s face. “Dean, I’m so sorry, I thought…” Dean is still shivering, so Castiel strokes his hair, runs his thumbs across his cheeks, drops kisses to his mouth. “Dean, where are you? Do you know who I am?”

Dean mumbles something. His eyes open slowly, glazed but struggling to focus. “Cas,” he slurs.

“Yes, that’s right.” Castiel smiles, chest clenching a little when Dean struggles to smile back. “Castiel. Cas. Your Cas.”

Dean’s eyes drift close again. Castiel continues to pet him, relieved when his shaking slows down and his breathing evens out. Castiel pulls his hands off Dean’s body but stays close, hoping that Dean knows he’s there, will always be there, will not leave him unless Dean wants him to.

Castiel isn’t sure how long they lie there like that, but he’s determined to stay awake all night if necessary. He made a mistake somewhere, pushed Dean without meaning to, and he has to fix this.

He relaxes a little when Dean finally opens his eyes again. He looks better already, recognition and awareness back in his gaze.

“Do you want some water?” Castiel asks. Dean nods, so Castiel goes to fetch some, helping Dean sit up and drink. “Do you want me to…” He tugs at the tie still around Dean’s hands, but Dean shakes his head.

“Why?” Dean leans in, seeking touch, so Castiel slides his fingers into Dean’s hair, massaging gently. Dean hums softly. “Why me, Cas?”

“Why you what?”

Dean presses in. Exhaustion makes his movements sluggish, but he moves until he’s close enough to nuzzle the side of Castiel’s face. “Why are you still here? With me?”

Talk about the most ridiculous questions. “Why are you with _me_?” Castiel returns.

“You’re you,” Dean says, sounding offended.

“Exactly.” Castiel tentatively slides his hands down, following the shape of Dean’s neck and shoulders. Dean pushes back into the touch, which is encouraging. “You’re you, I love you.” Dean flinches; maybe it’s too soon to say that, but Castiel can’t find it in himself to regret it.

Dean turns away and rests his head on Castiel’s shoulder, face turned to Castiel’s neck, breathing softly.

After a long moment of basking, Castiel says, “I want to be good for you.” His stomach turns at what he’s done to Dean, how he forced Dean to react tonight. “If being with me makes things difficult for you, you can tell me. In fact, I’d prefer it if you did.”

“You’d leave me?” Dean asks.

“If that’s what you need.” Castiel strokes his hands down Dean’s bound arms, hoping the soothing gesture will help Dean bear what Castiel needs to say next. “I’m not going to change what I do, Dean. I know I put myself at risk sometimes, but you do, too. Every time I hear about your exploits I… it can be hard, but I understand why you do it. We’re not important.”

Dean huffs. “You’re important to _me_.”

“Let me rephrase that,” Castiel says gently. “We’re not as important as our causes.” Surely Dean can understand that. Castiel’s goals may be lesser than Dean’s, but that doesn’t make them unworthy.

“I’m tired,” Dean says. He stretches abruptly, tie fluttering loose and his arms free again. His eyes are a little bloodshot, but it’s hard to tell because he’s not quite looking at Castiel. “Is it cool if I stay the night? Or what’s left of it?”

“Of course, Dean.” Castiel pulls the covers over Dean, tucking him in.

Dean turns on to his side, eyes closed. He’s still frowning faintly, but it’s good that he wants sleep. Castiel needs to shower and brush his teeth, but he stands at the side of the bed for a long moment, studying the long line of Dean’s body and wishing that he knew some better way to help him.

 

* * *

 

Dean isn’t there when Castiel wakes up. It isn’t much of a surprise, but Castiel can’t help being disappointed.

Castiel falls back to work. There are plenty of outlets Castiel can dedicate his energy, so he does. If the days seem a little gloomier or quieter, then it’s just in Castiel’s head.

Oh, who is he kidding.

The distraction of work is only partially effective because, honestly, four months in and Castiel missed something so _fundamental_ with Dean? He’d just barely earned his welcome into Dean’s life, and then Castiel had hurt Dean, had _distracted_ Dean, which that is the last thing he could have wanted.

Castiel leaves a message on Dean’s phone: _I’m here, if you want me_ , and leaves it at that.

Sam definitely knows something happened because he keeps side-eyeing Castiel and occasionally pausing to stare, as though it’s only due to sheer force of will he isn’t interfering. Dean doesn’t show up at the office or anywhere else, Sam is careful to steer their conversations to safe or professional waters, and even Crowley’s inappropriate mocking fails to incite anything in Castiel other than a quiet yearning that there’s still something between Castiel and Dean that’s worth being teased over.

Nine days of silence, and then Castiel receives a message. _My place, tonight? Dinner on me._

Castiel tries not to be too relieved. He replies in the affirmative – as if there’s any doubt – and goes to Dean’s house that night with one thing crystal clear in his mind: it’s Dean’s call now, and Castiel will honor any decision he makes.

“Hey,” Dean says, when the door opens. He’s smiling, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that makes Castiel want to reach up and touch him. Castiel doesn’t, though. He merely smiles back and enters Dean’s house like the guest he is.

“Oh, you cooked,” Castiel says, surprised. The spread on the dining table in impressive, as is the sheepish expression on Dean’s face. “It smells lovely.”

“Thanks, man.” Dean slides a hand under Castiel’s elbow, applying just enough pressure to hold him in place for a brief, closed-mouth kiss. Castiel thinks he might be beaming now, which makes Dean look even shiftier. “I just wanted to… Uh, you know. For freaking out on you.”

“You couldn’t help it,” Castiel points out. Dean’s face goes funny, so he adds, “It’s like the nightmares, but when awake.”

“Yeah,” Dean says slowly. He has that look again, the one that says the he’s not sure what to make of Castiel, which is strange because _he’s_ not the complicated one. Castiel is predictable, has always been predictable. Dean tries on a different, slightly more inviting smile. “How about we eat first? That good with you?”

“Sure.”

As they eat, Castiel’s tension eases. Dean is smiling, which is good, and they’re talking about their usual things – work, general news, happenings in the neighborhood, what Sam’s been up to. It’s not completely unsalvageable.

Practically all their time spent together has been in Castiel’s apartment. Dean once said on that it’s because Castiel has a sturdier bed, though that’s just another example of the way Dean deflects.

Even now, though Dean has cooked and cleaned, there’s something detached in the way he moves around the kitchen, the dining room and – after they’ve finished and Dean’s ducked his head from Castiel’s praise of his cooking – back to the living room for drinks. The house is part of the presentation, and Castiel can clearly make out Dean’s line of thinking: normal people have houses, so Dean should have a house; Sam’s happy living in the city, so Dean should live in the city, too.

“What’re you thinking?” Dean says, dropping next to Castiel on the couch. He leans in, brushing a knuckle against the space between Castiel’s eyebrows. “You’ve got that Reporter Cas look.”

“You treat your car more as a home than this house,” Castiel says.

“Jesus.” Dean laughs, shaking his head. “I really should stop being surprised that you can do that.”

Castiel drops his gaze guiltily. “Sorry. It’s just…” He swallows. “I suppose we should talk now.”

“Yeah.” Dean, when Castiel finally dares look at him, is frowning at his cup. “Yeah, there’s that.”

“I’m okay with whatever you decide,” Castiel says quickly.

“See!” Dean jabs a finger in the air towards Castiel, almost gleefully. Castiel is bewildered, to say the least. “That’s it right there. God, Cas. Remember what it was like before? Before we… You know. When you were investigating me, as the Hunter, you used to be so damn critical about my working outside the system, taking matters into my own hands. Your writing – you never held back.”

“Yes, I remember that.” Castiel knows that Dean keeps those articles somewhere. He’d mentioned that once in passing and quickly changed the topic, embarrassed. “I don’t write about you anymore, though. I can’t.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what I’m getting at.” Dean pulls in closer, their knees brushing. “And at that exact same time, you used to give _me_ shit. Personally, I mean, when I used to annoy the hell out of you pulling your pigtails.”

Castiel’s mouth falls open, ready to affectionately snipe back that Dean _still_ annoys the hell out of him, but he manages to stop himself. Instead, he nods, listening.

“That’s just it. You used to call me out on my crap, and you did it both ways – okay, there’s a joke in there but let’s not get distracted. That’s kinda why I…” Dean makes a shapeless gesture that’s presumably meant to describe his inexplicable early fascination with Castiel. “You saw right through the bullshit. And then we hooked up, and all of that just… stopped.”

“That makes no sense.” Castiel frowns. “Things have changed. Now I know there’s more to your actions than what I’d initially thought. Now I know that you always have the best interests of others in mind, I can’t pass judgment on any of your choices. I trust you to do the right thing.”

“Yeah, and that scares me.”

Castiel blinks, startled. “It scares you that I _trust_ you?”

“I appreciate that trust, I do, but you take it to a whole other level,” Dean says, wincing at the look of confusion that must be on Castiel’s face. “God, Cas, I’m not trying to fish for compliments here. I’m human, and humans make mistakes. You can’t put that kind of belief on anyone, let alone me.”

“But I…” This makes so little sense, Castiel tries to wrap his mind around it. “I _know_ you. You would lay your life down in a heartbeat just to—”

“Cas, stop.” Dean finally reaches out, taking Castiel’s hand in his. His fingers are warm, his thumb rubbing gently over Castiel’s knuckles. Castiel isn’t sure whether the soothing gesture is meant for him, or for Dean himself. “I’ve done terrible things for the people I care about. My dad, my mom. Sam.” His voice wavers a little on the last.

“I’m not asking you to—”

“Shhh,” Dean says, almost laughing. He leans forward, hand curling at the back of Castiel’s neck to pull him in for a kiss. “I’m trying to tell you something here, Cas.”

Castiel nods sheepishly, taking the next kiss Dean gives him. “I apologize.”

“Some of what I’m doing now,” Dean says, “Is to try to make up for that. Some of it is because it’s leftover from what my dad used to do and what he brought me up to do. But really, the biggest reason I’m doing it is because I don’t know how to do anything else. Do you understand what I’m trying to say, Cas?”

Castiel swallows his indignant response – _you do it because you are excellent at it and I would not trust anyone else with such a task_ – because that’s not what Dean wants to hear. He’s watching Castiel now, wary and patient as he tries to explain something that makes Castiel feel faintly angry to think about.

So, at the heart of it, Dean isn’t proud of what he does. At the heart of it, despite being surrounded by people who believe in him, Dean is incapable of believing in himself.

“I’m just a guy, Cas.” Dean shrugs, which makes Castiel want to scream because he is very much not _just_ a guy. “I can’t handle that kind of… that thing you put on me. The weight of it, it’s just. It’s hard enough worrying about the city. I can’t take having you on top of it.”

“I’m not the only person you care about,” Castiel points out.

“No, but you’re the only one who thinks there’s nothing wrong with this the way it is.” Dean’s chuckle sounds a little self-deprecating, a little terrified. “That’s kinda fucked up.”

 _You’re perfect_ , Castiel wants to say. He knows this; has known this from the moment Dean started to let him in. Castiel can be swallowed whole by the dark parts of Dean’s fears and still know that Dean is perfect.

But right now Castiel just says, “I can work on this. Thank you for telling me.”

“A while ago, some people used Sam against me,” Dean says abruptly. His fingers tighten around Castiel’s hands, face solemn as he watches closely for Castiel’s reaction. “That’s where I was when I freaked out on you. For a moment I was back there, remembering how it was when I lost him. When I gave myself up.”

Castiel has never heard of this. Sam’s never said, Dean’s never said.

“Oh.” This information sinks in and there’s no more doubt that Castiel is a horrible person. Here Dean is confessing, and all Castiel can linger on is the possibility that Dean might have strong feelings about him. Castiel tries to quench the warm glow in his chest. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t either.” Dean shrugs it off, no big deal, what a liar. He won’t expand that story now, not when he still hasn’t realized how hard he’s clasping Castiel’s hands between his. Castiel wonders about it anyway; what did Dean do to keep Sam out of it, to make sure that Sam has the normal life he has now?

Maybe one day, once Castiel has shown Dean he has nothing to be ashamed about, he will be allowed to learn.

Dean says, “So… We’re good?”

“Yes.” Castiel smiles, a knot in his chest unwinding at the hesitation in Dean’s voice. “Yes, Dean. I promise I’ll do my best that you won’t get into a situation like that with me. I’ll be safe, I’ll take better care of myself.”

Dean exhales slowly, relief melting his body as he surges forward to kiss Castiel, pushing him down. “Thank you,” he breathes, relief in the gentle press of his mouth against Castiel’s. “Thanks, Cas.”

Any irritation Castiel had before about Dean’s hypocrisy – he puts himself at risk far more than Castiel does – is suddenly, abruptly inconsequential. Castiel can let Dean have this; it’s nothing _at all_ to let Dean have this, when Dean’s already done so much and given up so much. Castiel cards his fingers through Dean’s hair, pulling him close and tilting his head up to accept the kiss.

It’s not long before Dean’s sliding their limbs into place, legs intertwined as he presses Castiel into the couch. The slow grind of their bodies is relaxed and comfortable – even sensual in a way that Castiel hadn’t known his body could be.

Dean pulls away slowly, but only far enough to trail wet kisses along Castiel’s chin. “I want to be good for you, too.” He sounds simultaneously determined and sheepish, the declaration obviously strange in his mouth. “You know. Us. I think we can be good.”

“I think we can be good, too,” Castiel agrees. He shuffles awkwardly underneath Dean, kicking off his shoes before wrapping a leg around Dean’s waist. “I think we can be very good.”

That brings out one of Dean’s gorgeous smiles. “Nice to see we’re on the same page.”

Castiel winds his arms around Dean’s shoulder, pulling him down so he won’t see the stupid smile threatening to break Castiel’s face. “Right here?” Castiel whispers against the shell of Dean’s ear. “Like this?”

Dean grunts a cheerful affirmative. “Yeah.” He slides a hand into the space between Castiel and the cushions, squeezing his ass. “Sounds good.”

They’ve had sex on almost every available surface in Castiel’s apartment, so it’s only fair they start on Dean’s house, starting with his couch. They shed their clothes quickly – at first Dean tries to make it a striptease, but Castiel slides his foot up against Dean’s erection and derails that thought quickly.

Over four months of this and it still feels brand new, Dean’s hands so clever and devastating on Castiel’s body. Fingers trail through Castiel’s hair, down his neck and shoulders, drawing lines along his arms before settling on his hips, holding him in place as Dean grinds down. Castiel lies there and takes it, content to kiss and be kissed, touch and be touched.

“Cas,” Dean murmurs. He sounds like he could do this all night, which Castiel really doesn’t mind at all. Castiel splays his hands across Dean’s back, encouraging Dean to press deeper, his body hot and heavy as he narrows the space between them to nothing.

They move against each other in what like feels for hours, pleasure a slow-growing burn in their bodies because there’s no rush, no rush at all. They have plenty of time, they fit so well.

Then Dean reaches between their bodies, finding Castiel’s cock and guiding to slide wetly against Dean’s thigh. The angle is _perfect_ , the head of Castiel’s cock catching at Dean’s hip and that shouldn’t be all it takes, but it is. Castiel archs his back, making a sound that he never knew he was capable of until he’d met Dean. He’s coming on Dean’s stomach, clumsy and unexpected, his orgasm having snuck up on him.

Dean hisses, teeth bared. It’s only after Castiel’s somewhat caught his breath and blearily opened his eyes does he realize it’s because he’s raked his fingernails down Dean’s back.

“Sorry,” Castiel says. He guides Dean’s face for another kiss, coaxing out his tongue. “Let me make it up to you.”

Dean grunts, but it’s a good kind of noise that Castiel takes an encouragement. He shimmies under him a little, just enough that he can draw his hands apologetically down Dean’s spine until he can cup his ass. Dean hums his approval, and then groans when Castiel carefully pushes his fingers into the space between Dean’s ass cheeks, stroking gently.

“Is that good?” Castiel asks, watching how Dean’s eyelids flutter, how his mouth opens into a desperate gasp. “Okay, like this.”

Castiel puts just enough pressure, mindful that Dean has likely not fully healed since their last time. Two fingertips at Dean’s opening, pressing in a rolling tease that has Dean bucking up, cock jumping against Castiel’s stomach.

“There,” Dean says breathlessly. He rolls his hips and Castiel obliges, circling his fingers and tracing the furled muscle. Dean squints down at Castiel, sounding deliciously confused when he says, “In?”

“No, not yet.” Castiel slides his other hand down Dean’s front until he finds his cock. He squeezes around the length, pressing his thumb firmly against the head. “I’ll have to check you very carefully to see if you’re ready for that again.”

Dean moans, and Castiel knows they’re imagining the same thing: Dean splayed open on the bed with Castiel between his legs, tender and thorough as he inspects Dean’s body. Castiel is very meticulous and very patient and very much an evil tease when he wants to be, and he knows for sure that Dean will come at least three times tonight.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean snarls, and that’s orgasm number one.

Castiel holds him through it. Dean shudders but does not whimper, his whole body stiff as he tries to coast the pleasure for as long as he can.

Castiel thinks he might pull something, he is smiling so hard. He wonders if he was made to contain this much happiness, being here with Dean, this thing between them now taking another step forward. If it could always be this good, Castiel will want for nothing.

“A plus.” Dean says. He can still talk coherently; Castiel must rectify that soon.

Dean takes five, maybe ten minutes to breathe, and then he’s rolling off the couch and on to his feet. Excellent stamina, as always, though it _has_ been more than a week since they’ve seen each other. “Come on,” Dean says. He picks up his clothes, though it’s clear that he has no intention on putting them back on. “More fun to be had upstairs if you know what I’m saying, and I think you do.”

“Just let me get my things.” Castiel starts to reach for his shirt but pauses, distracted by Dean’s stretching languidly and putting his body on sinful display. The man knows what he’s doing, his smile just that touch of wicked.

“Don’t take too long or I’ll start without you,” Dean says, winking as he starts to move for the stairs.

Castiel flushes hot and calls out, “Is that supposed to be a deterrent?”

Already halfway up the staircase, Dean practically cackles. “No, seriously, dude, fun times. Lots and lots of fun times.” He bounds off and up, leaving Castiel to think that he would have to be dead or seriously hampered before he’d turn that down.

While Castiel gathers up his things properly, he finds his cellphone screen flashing with a new message. It’s from Crowley, _Any updates from the bot? Want to go after Raphael yet?_

Castiel erases the message.

He turns back to where Dean had gone, the warm affection and contentment in his chest settling down like it was always meant to be there.

The gameplan keeps changing. Castiel has spent these months learning and adjusting, though everything about Dean makes it worth it. Knowing what Castiel does now, and having _seen_ what it does to Dean when Castiel pushes too hard, he will do his best not to repeat that. He can make it _better_ now.

Dean’s already carrying so much. It’s only right that Castiel be there for him, give him a shoulder to lean on instead of making things worse.

As Castiel goes upstairs back to Dean, his thoughts are half on what he’ll find when he gets there, and half on how how he needs to get a new phone ASAP. Dean respects Castiel’s privacy but he could easily hack into this phone if he wanted, and it just makes better sense to avoid leaving an easy trail where possible.

If Castiel can separate his activities effectively, starting with a phone for specific matters that neither Dean nor Sam need to know about, then there’ll be less risk of Dean getting worried about him all over again.

It’s the least Castiel can do for him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: It's unlikely that I'll be writing more in this 'verse, sorry! However, KawaiiKoala34 posited in the comments a [way for the story to be resolved, plus my own thoughts on that](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/81744553).


End file.
